"'%^., ■'■'"f ""•'"•■% ^^^^'i^h,.Mr ^cy 








LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

^^ap.. Copyright Io.._. 

/^ff 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



■ 





HIRAM AUGUSTUS FARRAND 



POEMS 



BY 



H 



mAM AUGUSTUS KARRAND 



PHILADELPHIA 

HIRAM A. FARRAND 

1899 



7^ 3^5-! I 



?f? 



29977 



!^ 



Copyright, 1899 

BY' 

Hiram Axjgxjstus Farranet 



♦ 
^ ^ 






SEND ME NO LIGHT, O SUN! 

Send me no light, O Sun! 

Spare me thy songs, O SeaT 
Lo! I have heard not one: — 

My Loved One has come to me! 

She came to my place and spake; 

And I knew that the voice was Hers, 
Whose echo I'd heard as the morning brake 

With the song of the Sea through the firs. 

Enough! thy songs may cease; 

Shine thou! I shall not see; — 
For what is thy boasted caprice 

To the Joy that abideth in me? 



SONNET. 

(Written on turning for solace to the sea in time of affliction.) 

Ten thousand years these waves have foamed this 
brink — 

Ten thousand years, have foamed and fetched the 
shore, 

And many in that time, and many more 
Have watched these sea-old breakers rise and sink — 
To such the Sea gave calm, — as oft I think 

My fears have soothed — Lo, now a vacant shore 1 

Oh! such my loss, no grandeur may restore: 
Heedless I stand, and from the place I shrink! 

Like to some Pagan warrior turning home, 
Retreating proud to his barbaric peers. 

Fresh from the painful glories of old Rome, 
When sudden there his rude rock site appears; 

Breaking a heart that will no farther come, — 
Fainting almost, yet all too proud for tears. 



THE PINES OF SUMMIT. 

A Lament of the Death of Tennyson. 

Oh, silent Pines! ye silent Pines! 

Oh, ye, who rise upon lone lines 

That few may tread! who dimly stand 

Serene, erect and sag'ely grand, 

Where halts the eagle in his flight, 

Where whirs the wild fowl from the sight — 

Holy Trees! Fit for the thought 
Of holy men in Passion wrought! 

1 think not strange the savage found 
Hints here of happy hunting ground, 
Or drew from these sequestered bowers 
His stoic heart and warlike powers. 



up through your niasts I see the light 

Aglow, — the myriad eye of night, — 

The lamps of bright Orion flare, — 

The blood red rose of Mars is there. 

The moon and sun have tuned their spheres 

With the music that rings in the change of years, 

As down the occidental slope 

A-sink, their flickering glimmers grope, 

And leave to lesser stars the beat 

Of stately rhythmic chanting sweet — 

But Lo! as a western planet sinketh, 

One up the eastern terrace blinketh ! 



Oh, years of life have Hrigered long 

Amid the cadences of song, 

So liquid flowing from the pen 

Of many a master mind of men! 

But as I rise, upon the height 

Years build for me by day and night, 

There sinks behind the sullen west. 

Some star unto its silent rest. 

Now one has gone; — the grand old Seer! 

The mightiest one in many a year 

That 'neath the horizon hath fallen 

The flame has ceased: my heart is sullen! 



Unmeasured Soul! Enduring Name! 

Writ in the adamantine fame 

Of human hearts, peace be thine own, 

Thou broughtest peace, with thee 'tis flown; 

And though I fear no star may sink 

Behind the western Sorrow-Brink, 

But shall some astral beauties rise 

Whose shafts may reach the waiting skies, 

I, human-like, see not how theirs 

Can pierce the blindness of these tears. 

Or hold one hour of night undaunted, 

On fields where hosts have vainly flaunted. 



sighing Pines! ye Sighing Pines! — 
Your voice is tremulous and whines; 
There is a plaint upon your mood, 
Upon your tongue; while o'er the wood 
Thei*e falls indeed a deeper gloom, 
Qose, like the drapings of a tomb; 
And as I climbed the mountain-side, 

1 saw not all that does abide 
These sylvan paths: there is a spell 
From some strange power that works ye ill ! 
For often to these shades I've come, 
Half mad from man's incessant hum, 

And in this silent calm and peace, 
Found I your silent strength, O Trees! 
But now, O how this mood has changed ! 
Far from the haunts of man Fve ranged 
To be alone; the world was crying — 
To learn your calm — I find ye sighing! 



13 



A NAME. 

O a Beauty came out of the morn 

Through a sheet of Uving flame! 
And along the path of the Milky-way 

Another Beauty camel 
And up from the bourne of the Northern Sea, 

And out from the bosom of Fame, 
A myriad host of beauties arose 

And entered into a Name! 

O that Name! will it ever be mine- 
While the molten sun shall shine, — 

While the thunderous blasts aloud pronounce 
In the sound of the tempest's whine,— 

And the forests awake and echo and shake 
With her lovely name divine,— 

O that Name!— the loveUest name of names !- 
Shall it ever, O, ever be mine? 



14 



I have entered the sunset skies, 

Through portals and pillars of fire, 
By lakes of cardinal, crimson and gold, 

To the palace of pure desire; 
I have sailed with my soul o'er the sea; 

And to heights— no heights be higher— 
And down in deep dungeons- -but who may see 

The altar where smoulders my pyre? 

O luminous orb of the night, no more 

Float over the phosphorous sea! 
The light of my being has dimmed and died 

And darkened the hollowy lea; 
For never shall vision again behold 

More beautiful splendor than She: 
O the soul that came out of the regions of Space 

And came but for Love and for met 



J5 



LINES ON DEATH. 

The billows moan — the mighty force, 
Down at its very foot is whirled; 

The ceaseless hosts of warriors plumed 
In plumage of the foam-fraught course, 
Drive on, and are in madness hurled 
Upon the templed rocks a-lee, 

Upon the templed rocks entombed, — 
Entombed forever by the sea. 

I see a boat upon the wave ; — 
A mariner within it lashed; 

I see the mighty maelstrom borne 
On him, a hungry, living grave; 

I know he hopes, though hopeless dashed 
High on. the ragged rocks is he — 

But now a body, limp and torn. 
Is drifting slowly out to sea. 



i6 



Ah, stubborn Death! Thy skirts do float 
In tangled truck of spar and rope, 

Such shapely masts like tapers hewn, 
With many an upturned safety boat: 

Yes, all that remnant wreck of hope, 
That man for age on age has built; 

There at thy base, where spoiling strewn, 
Was all the costly cargo spilt! 

A thousand nations, shield and throne; 
A thousand empires, lord and slave; 
A thousand centuries as weeks. 
With all their thousand phantoms gone: 

A mere recital marks the grave 
Of each historic deed and crime- — ^ 

And Craft, and Love, and all Life seeks" 
Lies silent in the Tomb of Time. ' • 



17 



Death is the leveler of all, — 
The Hearse — that Chariot of the Dead, — 
The Tomb — whose destination 'tis, — 
Elegiac phrase in mournful call: 

E'en these of caste and rank are bred — 
Yet on the Dying, Death's own pen 

Does somehow, somewhere Avrite : "There is 
A strange equality in men." 

Faith paints with all too lavish zeal; 
Hope pencils with unsteady hand; — 
It is not that I ask the more, 
Nor is it that the less I feel, 

These I ignore; for I have scanned 
A rationale that may not lie, 

And I'm content there is much more 
Revealed each man as he does die. 



i8 



And just because Death shames ail things, 
And beggars all the work of Man, 

And snatches up the Brand of Truth, 
That here defies our reasonings; 

Because there lies that surest ban 
Upon the most majestic theme : 

I love this Death — to me forsooth, 
Death has the gferies that redeem. 

Though fain I would not, I must turn 
From all beside to mine own place, 
And in the shadow I alone 
Must dip my foot within the burn, 

Must tear the mask from ofif Death's face, 
And then my own sad silence keep, 

No man may hear me if I moan. 
And should I cry, not one will weep. 



19 



TO 

Might I die to-night while the winds are moaning! — 
Their funeral Hps are fluting the tune — 

Ere the light dies out of the world by morning, 
I could die with a heart, and none too soon. 

Might the blot of ever and utter forgetting 

Now coA^er me over, — I'd care not what be; 

Could I tear off this veil of illusory shadows, 
Of all that seems real and yet never shall be : — 

I could die with a heart — it were living to die so ! — 
'Twere the ease of a god-like existence for me : 

To be spared what only oblivion spares men, 
And fall to a peace that I never shall see. 

But to pick up to-morrow the staff of dejection, 
To lift up mine eyes for beholding the lea. 

To turn for the light which ever hath led me, — 

To be mocked bv the blindness that falleth o'er me! 



To stagger ahead — My God! — through the Darkness!' 
To press on, not knowing the voice that guides me! 

To fumble the dubious chaos about me, 

And cross the dark Landscape alone without Thee! 

But to die — to night — while the winds are moaning — 
Their funeral lips are fluting the tune — 

Ere the light dies out of the world by morning, 
I could die with a heart, and none too soon. 



21 



WHAT DO I KNOW OF BEAUTY? 

What do I know of Beauty? 

What do I know of truth? 
What fair or foul can this brute be? 

Lost, wasted perhaps, or both, — 
Found not in the maxim of sages, 

Nor in my dreams as a child, 
JSfor from a splendor of ages — 

Where is there an age undefiled? — 
JSfothing as ever I knew it, 

Lost, loaned, or given away; — 
Yet here as I sit and review it, 

I am doomed to its absence alway. 

Surging the crowd, undelaying. 

Passing the opposite track; 
"^'Lo!" cries my heart, *'we are straying! 

We are on the wrong road! turn back!" 
We turn with the crowd; but that magic 

Dwells not in the multitude there; 
And the heart dethroned from her logic, 

Descends from despair to despair. 



Wrestled, have I, with getting, 

Spent with a lavish hand, 
Hoarded while others were betting 

Or feasting the fat o' the land. 
Partnered to every virtue, 

Brothered with every vice, 
Damned if a devil may hurt you, 

And sanctified twenty times twice; 
But over and under the devils. 

The Angels and heavenly host. 
Be it sinq-ing, or praying, or revels. 

Mv heart cries out: "We are lost!" 



23 



TO A MAY FLOWER. 

(Written ou receiving a bunch of trailing arbutus from a friend.) 

Pink tinted flower! thy mission is in vain; 

All that thou wert, and all I thought to gain ; 

All that I hoped had lingered in thy power, 

Has vanished from thee ere this feeble hour. 

For oh, sweet token! thou'rt a futile gift; 

If, from my soul, thou wouldst now lift, 

What years have weighted on me, stern and swift ; 

If, from a past, thou wouldst now draw, 

O'er close and hide the hateful flaw, 
That Time but widens to a rift. 

Not that I love thee none. 

Or prize not thy delicious scent; 
But thy peculiar charm has gone: 

Thou art not what thy memory has meant; 



514 



Too primitively sweet thou art, I'll own; — 

Yet I have kept, inviolate, a place, 
And here, within my heart, have reared thy throne. 

Where I did shrine thy memory in grace 
Though many a bloom, delicious, have I known. 

And many a flower has sought to win thy place. 
For now the Rose is dear ; 
To me the Lily's near; 
And in the South, I loved the Jessamine ; 
And all the flora, North and South, in fine. 

With East and West, has yielded up its fair. 
And I have felt no guilt to love each vine, 

That has but added happy memories here. 
Yet, if, one moment, I could feebly own, 
What I once felt for thee and have outgrown, 

Wliat I remember of thee, fresh and rare. 

Faint though the trace of it be written here : 
I would not barter thee for coin or stone; 
I would not yield my state for strength or throne: 

For oh, I held thee in my soul so fair! 
For thou are of a time that has long fled, 

Ere duty drove me from my early song, 
Ere I, an exile from my childish bed. 

In alien hearts found welcome late and long. 



25 



For, like some trav'ler, I, who spies a view, 

Through veils of mist, some cherish' d valley's 
ground ; 

Perforce, must choose a path, which followed through 
But leads him to a wild and rocky bound. 

Where naught he longed for, ever, naught he knew, 
Reveals itself to him by sight or sound. 

Life is not what it was, 

And o'er me there has grown a state, 
Indifferent and despoiled. Alas, 
A futile and defenseless fate! 
Somewhere upon the path there died the breed. 

That did torment my spirit as with fire; 
And by the aching trace of scars, I read, 
What could, no more, be read by my desire. 

I loved — but what of that love now? 

I strove for glory — what is glory? — Aye: 
Fame; and I would not have it — Lo! 
Idol and Fetish have each had their day! 
Oh ! where one magic face sometime forgot its power, 

None new, as yet, has dared assume its place! 
And Marvel, now, no longer holds its hour, 
While Wisdom filches half of Beauty's grace. 



26 



Ah, dainty innocent ! — that thou shouldst bring 
What scarcely dreams retain — save when I wake 
A-sudden and my heart, a-quake, 
Is strained with beauty, as I sense the thing 

That holds most grief because it is most pure — 
As now like madness to my brain a-doze 
A velvet sweetness all too pure doth close 

And make my heart perverse with its allure — 
Till Reason firmly grasps the reeling sense 
And pours libations o'er my brain intense, 
And smites the magic, till its tricks give way 
To the mixed business of the Mind of Day. 



27 



AH, TIS A TROUBLOUS WORLD. 

Ah, 'tis a troublous world, a troublous earth, 

And elemefrt&i turmoil we are in ! 

The day, the nig-ht, and everything' below, 

And round afeout us, but conspires that man 

Shall raise Ms feeble hands and cry "protection!" 

These wanton mooded winds, that hurry up 

And down the earth and blow their fill; — and these 

Indignant thunders brawling overhead — 

And this calamitous air, — one sip of sea it takes, 

And then might plunge a volume from its skies. — 

In this, in ev'rything, are we thus cast 

To push against the push of Nature's host; 

To wrestle from the sun and moon our milk 

Of sustenance. Pity us, ye Elements! — O pity us! 



1^ 



A MEMORY. 

It was too late and I had gone too far ; — 

I told them that the coav had wander'd not 
Beyond the woody part of further lot, 

But vex'd because she was not ready there 

At milking-time, they sent me out — ^but where 
Was I to find her? — I was lost! The owls 
Kept company with wails and dismal howls 

Long drawn ; while each stirr'd leaf gave me a jar 
Of terror, — Sepulchre of Trees! Each cold 

And crystal star became my fellow bright; 
But ne'er before was so in: fright, unbold 

My spirit, dreading lest some fiend sprite 

Should grasp me from behind. O fear untold! 

Alone, alone in all those Avoods that night! 



29 



I DREAM OF THEE. 

I dream of thee when comes the night, 
Then comes to me my own — her way, 

From out the shadows, one so bright, — 
A face to change the dusk to day. 

Bends down to me a face, aglow, 

A face of love — O tender brow! 
Of love that does in silence show 

The strength with which she loves me now. 

Deep fulsome eyes — O strange how deep! 

That dare read mine and love me still; 
A hand that rests within my keep, 

A close pressed form that fears no ill. 

I dream of thee, and on thy brow, 

Where magic purity displays, 
To challenge all my heart, as now, 

With all my love, a kiss I place. 



30 



LINES. 

O I am dull and dumb beneath a Load, 

The Load of an eternal Arch-thought: Self. — 

So little do I know whereof I am — 

And I would know if men were e'en as I — 

Methinks tVould wean me of a loneliness. — 

Oh there be regions that none have visited, save I ! 

On paths, that none have ever trod, I stand! 

Lo ! have I come with myself a long, lone way ! 



THE SONG OF THE SOUL. 

Once prostrate, pondering my dole, 
Down on the green sward bank, amaze, 

Mid melody of ocean's roll 

And whispering of hemlock, aye, 
And cedar, sweet Eolian lays 

Of melancholy, lone I lay. 

For once was one whose maiden eye 

Had beamed with beauteous grace on mine. 

Now in her absence did I lie 

And robe her form in lily, rose 
And sweet carnation, while as wine 

My heart drank misery and woes. 

Yet scarce I voiced her name, and wreathed 
I mine with hers, as flowers, when ho! 

At that familiar sound, so breathed, 

All things seem'd leaping from me, grown 
To insignificance, and oh ! 

A gulf lay twixt me and mine own. 



32 



I startled — like some sleeper woke. 
Who waking, stting by sharp reverse, 

Perceives his lot is but a joke, 

And that for eons past his throne 
Has hung in loftiest universe, — 

I looked with wonder on mine own. 

Now how one ma}^ so turn him round 
That -he does look upon himself, 

Is past expression, yet I found 

Mine own eyes on me, and behold 

What wonder was my soul's glad self! 

More precious than a find of gold ! 

The Chemistry of Time, the Sea 

Of Space, the Reign of Things, if nigh. 
But clothed my continuity. 
The spark which lit with gentle glow 

This shifting Miracle, was I. — 
That, I alone of all could know. 



3-3. 



Perhaps as light reflected oft 

Has that of more attraction chanced 
Than has the source, because more soft, 
Tis easier to the weaker gaze, 

So it might be, that there entranced, 
Mine eyes did dwell on holier rays. 

But that importance did me dwell. 

Me — my own soul — a nameless one — 

And past the path of stars did swell, 

My soul, so great, that't did immerse 
All that existed, and alone 

My heart beat as the universe, — 

I, whom, if motes be named, they miss, 
Lost in the rapid human roar! 

I, where the vacant regions hiss 

As trails the fire from hurtling orb! 
I, of these ages; but a spore 

Than cydes of an hour absorb! 



34 



But as that sparrow, which does tune 
Her song far in the dull of night, 

Who trills' her swelling to the moon, 

With throat so ruffed, that speech o'er flows 
To independence of the light, — 

So too, my soul in music rose. 

But ere I could in gladness swell 
The Uttermost, descending hush'd 

This Dream of Things. Inscrutable 
The Silences descending came, 
And shut the open portals, pushed — 

And on my lips was yet the name. 

And all became as 'twas before; — 

The melody of Ocean's roll, 
The whisperings of hemlock, or 
Of cedar, sweet Eolian lays 

Of melancholy — but, my soul! 
The universe seemed for thy praise! 



35 



RUS IN URBE. 

Hark, sweet angel of my vision: — I have come irom 

far away, 
From the hillocks and the seasands, wander'd I to thee 

to-day, 
Though the voices of the waters had entreated me to. 

stay, 
Come to whisper in thy hearing, what thine eyelids, brid 

me say. 

There is incense in my garden; there is peace within 
mine isle, 

*Neath the sighing, solemn cedars dark and colonnad- 
ed file, 

In the natural cathedral, where sweet chorused birds 
beguile. 

And the organ voice of billows echoes down the holy 
aisle. 



3^ 



But the fragrant, dark ca^thedral only lacks a priestess'^ 
care, 

I have heard the waves a-calling, calling softly in de- 
spair, 

Heard the South wind's spirit chiding, chiding, chid- 
ing everywhere, 

Saw the fragile sea-shell fading to reflect some image 
there. 

Wilt thou come again my darling? Will again thy 

visage greet 
Nuptials of moon and water ere their pulse shall cease 

to beat? 
Couldst thou not dwell there my darling', — by the 

waters low and sweet, 
Where the billows wet the seasands, reaching but to 

kiss thy feet? 



37 



THE ARTIST. 

1 have cried tonight Hke a child, 

And the whimpering hound of my fears 

Has goaded me on to cower a-wild 
And crouch in a bkidder of tears. 

But I'm chased to the last lost spot; — 
There's a snarl within my tone, 

And my bite will be bitterly hot 

For the fool that dares face me alone! 

Among fools I was littered and bred; 

From the blood of pure fools mine springs- 
O a curse to the fate that me plied 

With a scorn for all medium things! 

For they stupidly watched me spurn 
The best that their idols had taught, 

And they saw me laboriously earn 
The pittance they'd easily caught 



3S 



Then I stumbkd and fell — and they jeer'd- 
"You laugh and I curse you!" I said; 

But they laughed at my heat and sneer'd: 
''Twere better your feet were lead." 

E'en the kindliest hearts fell short, 

Concerned lest the talents be drained 

Of the groundling ends of the sort 
That their own ambitions sustained. 

'Tis to be, then? — to work, then? — to stay 
Alive till the moment we die? 

'Twere better, alas, to die to-day, 
'E'er to-morrow may make us cry! 

If Ambition's the game, let me play 

At the only game I desire; 
Let me hurT down the dice — Aside, I say! 

Now for Luck — or for Hell with its fire! 



39 



Nay, — to-night I am hungry and cold; 

My wrists start numb from their sleeves 
And my nerveless fingers trembling fold, 

Hard over these pain written leaves. 



THE INNOCENCE OF THE SOUL. 

I curse not mockery of years, 
I curse not e1)b and flow of fate, 
Though dearest longings, soon or late, 

Are wrecked upon the sea of tears. 

Though rate we fool, who fooled is twice 
Upon the very selfsame trick, 
This inner sense, responding quick, 

Obeys a call ten thousand thrice! 

For here, within this conscious I, 

There pants, unslaked, rapicious thirst: 
And for what cannot be, it durst, 

And bid this body do and die! 

Tis peace to know the pure exists, 

Though mirrored vain for outer thmgs, 
To know it for the good it bring-s, 

Unto the Soul hid in the Mists;— 



41 



A resource greater than one knows, — 
Extending past the farthest plain; 
Although the heart be dull with pain, 

It makes a plaything of it's woes. 

For life has myriads of joys 

And loss has sorrow for it's own, 
And when from failure weighing down, 

The spirit breaks, it upward bouys. 

For 'tis desire within the breast, 

More certain than results without; — 
If either value be in doubt, 

I know and hold the inner best. 

I am a fountain of delight; 

And keeper also of my doom, — 
An inlet here within the gloom 

From some Great Sea of Purer Right. 



42 



O Thou Great Seal O Vast Immense! 

Whose waters swirl my being through; 

These land-locked waters rising too, 
But seek thy height of Innocence! 

And, O, Sweet Soul, from whom I see 
The glist'ning waters rise and swell, 
I know thou art— and all is well- 
One graceful arm of that Great Sea! 



43 



THE TWILIGHT HERALDS COMING NIGHT. 

The twilight heralds coming Night, 

And westerly o'er lands away, 
Pursues in vain along his flight 

The agitated gleams of Day. 

But while the frighten'd daylight flies, 

A pale, uncertain afterlight 
All spectral lingers, loath fulwise 

To leave the field unto the Night; 

And on the western horizon, 

Doth plant its banners, gold and red, 
Defying hosts of Night upon 

Their sable steeds, the East a-tread. 

Upon the bridge, I watch the gleams: 

Releasing Day, intruding Night, 
And weave fantastic shadow-dreams, 

As mystic objects heave in sight. 



44 



For o'er the meadow lands away 
Distorted forms distinctly rise, 

Grotesque in silhouette and gray, 
And rudely figure on the skies. 

Beneath me, thro' the arches slip 
The eager waters hard apace, 

And gliding down the dark'ning dip, 
Are lost in solemn Night's embrace. 

The plaintive soimd of dying wind, 
Within the reeds and rushes blown, 

Seems laden with a mournful blind. 
That shrouds me on the bridge alone. 

A dreamy sense bedims the sight. 

As darkly, from the distant lea. 
The conqu'ing company of Night, 

Descends upon the land and sea. 



4S 



THOU DIEST AND I WEEP 

Thou diest, — and I weep — O why? 

Have ever I neglectful been? 

If ever, Time has worked her spleen 
Imperious. No, My Dead, not II 
But thou did'st ever turn me by 

And whisper me a proper mean, 

When I could burst thy bodice e'en 
With my fierce passion. Thus then, why, — 

Remorse at thy soul's chiir demesne? 
O is it but for these I cry:^ — 

The pleasures which thy death doth wean? 
The halls untrod, the forest sigh, 

The landscapes soft and bowers green, 
Unheard, unseen, that through thee die? 



46 



so SLEEP THE DEAD. 

This is a sorry jest— you—here— 
Here on this marble slab asleep, 

Indifferent of praise or sneer, 

Alike unmoved by those who weep, 

And this your hand so cold and clear, 
So like the marble where you sleep. — 

So sleep the dead, their strivings crushed, 
The matchless courage ever cowed. 

And on the bier, the pleadings hushed — 
In one last dying shiver bowed, — 
The weary limbs are wrapped in shroud 

And from the cliff of life then pushed. 

O God! 



47 



A MELANCHOLY SADNESS FOLLOWS ME. 

A melancholy sadness follows me: 
By night or day, asleep, alone — so roam 
Where'er I will, — there is a Presence from 
My side, that breaketh me — where yesterday 
Was joy, to-day is son-ow; for I am there! 
E'en though I am in verdant valley, or 
Mid earth's refulgent fields, this shadow, since 
An early day, streams o'er me as the mists 
That drawing up the vale at eve, do clothe 
The hills in silence and a starless night. 



48 



SNOW STORM AND MELANCHOLY. 

Dark, g}oom and ragged tree-trunks, 

An interlace of naked limbs, 
A falling sift of flaky white-spots, 

And snow-fall rustle where vision swims — 

And that is all, except the watcher; 

An only tranquil spirit there, 
Who languishes in prison-woodland, 

And gazes thro' the indefinite air. 

Ah, lonely? Nay, not alway lonely, — 
But chilly is the woodland sere, — 

And the touch of snow is as the burden 
Of my melancholy here. 



49 



What is the burden of my singing? 

Only one, — one, whom to gain, 
O utter, I would, no thing unlovely ! 

But I wait, and I wait in vain. 

This is my prison barring, — 

Yes, 'tis a frail confine, 
But which is the dreariest, loneliest region: — 

Your world, or this woodland heart of mine? 



50 



ON, ON, UPON THY WAY O SHIP. 

On! On, upon thy way O ship! 

Across this curving star! 
Slip, slip along thy passage, slip, 

The Liquid blue and far. 
O bear thee away my messag'e, ship! 

Sail out across the bar. 
And the dreams I'll dream of thy drift and dip 

Shall hasten thy keel and spar! 

Time in it's drowse o'er-shadeth me; 

Grief hath her lodging here; 
Dreary, alone at the end of day. 

Doth Twilight claim her tear. 
Down in my heart a sorrowing 

Hath builded her homely nest. 
But why is it thus, when all is peace, 

For me there is no rest? 



5X 



But on upon thy way, O ship! 

Across this curving star. 
Slip, slip along thy passage slip, 

The liquid blue and far; 
For too much this Heart would dare to lip 

Of a long hushed murmur there, — 
But the dreams FU dreani of thy drift and dip 

Shall hasten thy keel and spar! 



52 



APBlS 1899 



